Mawiage
by sariahbradshaw
Summary: On upcoming nuptials, or pancakes. Take your pick.


He really doesn't care.

The Charmings have dragged them all throughout town for the past few weeks and pestered him with questions he seldom had an answer to. What kind of flowers did he like? What was his favourite cake flavour? What colour did he want to wear? (Okay, that one he had cared, but he thought the answer of black was bloody obvious.) Who did he want to invite?

("Could Grumpy's invite possibly be lost in the mail, perhaps?"

"Hook, the entire town is invited. I think he'll notice."

"...Perhaps if his just happens to have an erroneous date on it…"

"Killian, seriously, what's the worst thing he could do?"

"Honestly, your majesty, I expect he will conjure up another crisis to disturb us right as we make it to the wedding bed."

"...Okay, maybe something could go wrong with his invitation."

"I think that sounds like a great idea."

"Oh David, grow up. It's not like you don't know they're having sex."

"..."

"..."

"Oh, get over it you two. Stop playing with your sword, David. You're not going to kill your best friend."

"He's not-"

"Shut it. Now, how do we feel about the bridesmaids in blue?")

And really, he thinks it's lovely that her parents are so supportive. It's far more than he deserves and he knows that. Reminds himself of it every time their house is bombarded and his fiance is whisked away from him for a dress-fitting or to pick colour swatches for some blasted thing or another. He appreciates the way he's included as well. The way Snow consults both of them for minute details, always emphasizing that while Emma is her little girl, it is their wedding and he should think everything satisfactory as well. It's kind and gracious and-

He just doesn't care a whit about any of it.

Killian doesn't care if Emma marries him in jeans and a t-shirt in the damned loft (Another slight lie, he is looking forward to seeing her in a dress. May have thought of it ever since their first and only ball.) He has no worry about what shade their roses are or daffodils or bloody radishes are at his wedding. He has no desire (and a rather healthy desire not to) inform Ruby Lucas what her attire should be. The simple fact is he is marrying the love of his life (of several long, lonely lifetimes) and as long as she is happy and he gets to call himself her husband at the end of the day, he gives very little fucks in regards to anything else.

And Emma? Emma's already told him she just wants to be married and so the whole planning this is slightly exhausting. Of course, he's gone to hell for this woman, so if it pleased her, he would continue to shovel unhealthy amounts of fish and lobster and whatever else he's supposed to sample into his belly for as long as it took. He's a patient man.

But that's the problem, you see. She isn't happy.

Not unhappy with him, of course.

("Of course I want to marry you." Her words are slurred, spoken into his chin as he pistons back into her, an accurate thrust that steals her breath again.

She loses words for a time, fingers grasping the back of his neck as he takes her in the deserted hallway between the B&B and diner, fast and furious and borderline desperate but they're been too many damned interruptions since her mother's arrival a fortnight prior and their need to touch and consume has made them both reckless.

"It's not...you make me happy." She hiccups as he glides across that secret spot inside her again, his cock twitches when she tenses. "This makes me happy. Being your wife makes me happy. It's just…ahhh."

The moan gets drawn out because he's hoisted her higher, legs grasping at his waist so he can run ungentle circles across her clit, fighting to take her with him. He keeps at it, his cock diving into her hard and deep as he thumbs that sensitive nub until until her breath shudders against his collar and her body clenches, pulling him impossibly deeper and making him spill himself into her with waves of clenching muscles and liquid heat.

He has to brace his knees to keep from dropping her in the wake of his orgasm, pinning her against the wall until her legs mercifully uncross from his back and support her weight on shaky legs as he moves his hand to cup the back of her head, needing to keep touching her, keep her close to his panting form.

They don't have time to bask, so he straightens and helps her tug her jeans back up her hips as she zips his pants back up for him, righting shirts and smoothing down hair as they go. Killian is sure they're still glowing and flushed ridiculously, and that Ruby is going to know that they were up to in a glance, but he supposes that at least they've tried to make themselves decent.

It isn't his bloody fault the whole damn town is attempting to cockblock him from his own fiance. In their own damned house.

He thumbs another arrant lock of gold hair away and she gives him a soft, satisfied smile that he runs his fingers against. Wants to imprint the image of her happy and sated onto his very fingertips.

"I just kinda wish we were married now, you know?" Swan continues, still so close to him that he can feel the heat of her, can imagine his stickiness between her thighs.

He smiles against her cheek, rubbing his nose affectionately down her neck for one last, stolen moment. "Aye, my love. I know exactly what you mean.")

But between the Dark Fairy's malfeasance and being torn from their bed long before proper to go pick out garnish or look at lights, he's watched her broad, scintillating grin fall and falter until their are deep purple bruises under her eyes and an almost permanent frown stern on her face.

And that, that he cares about. Emma sleeping. Emma's happiness. Sod all the table arrangements in the world, he just wants to spend the rest of his life making this woman laugh. (Or come, he does love that too.) And she's not.

So now, now Killian Jones cares.

* * *

"Your majesty," His plan has been set in place for days now. He's managed to maneuver himself out of bed without waking Emma well before dawn, quietly preparing the coffee long before Snow let herself into their house.

He's also going to get that bloody key back somehow. He's seen the woman drunk. She can pick a lock if she needs to.

"Hook," Mary Margaret starts, the ever-growing binder in both hands as she grins at him excitedly. "I thought we could look at some more venues today. I know that Henry crossed off your ship and David didn't like Granny's or town hall, but I was thinking that maybe an outdoor wedding? Spring will be arriving soon and you could get married on the beach! I know you like the sea so I thought it might be a good compromise. I'll just get Emma and we'll-"

"Snow," He cuts in. His chest feels tight when he realizes how much thought she's given to him in all of her planning, but he thinks of the way Swan barely stirred this morning, exhausted in their bed and it makes him resolute. "I'm afraid Emma won't be attending the wedding preparations today."

Her face falls, the bright eyes dimming slightly and she looks so much like her daughter in that moment that his heart clenches. Almost immediately, the book is placed down and her frankly unnerving energy redirected. "Is she alright? Is she sick? Because we can go to Whale right now-or maybe Regina. Do you think she has enough light magic to heal? Oh, or I heard Red is learning acupuncture. Maybe that would help. Is it the flu? Did the Dark Fairy do something? Oh my god, is it morning sickness? Because if she's pregnant we could move the date up to-"

Killian loses himself a bit at the word 'pregnant', his head spinning with images of Emma, her belly swollen with their child and face aglow with happiness. He has to shake himself out of the fantasy, mentally marking a point to at least figure out where Swan stands on the issue before placing a hand on Snow's shoulder, squaring himself off. "No-she's not affected by any malady to my knowledge, milady. She is, however, weary and I believe should be given the chance to enjoy more than five seconds of slumber."

Mary Margaret glances at his hand on her shoulder and for a moment he's worried he's overstepped his bounds by touching her, but she quickly returns to meet his eyes without comment. "What? But Hook, we've still got so much to do. We still don't have a date or a venue and I know she mentioned buttercups but David wants roses because we are still royalty, even here, and Granny and Mother Goose are having a cake-tasting competition because you liked Mother Goose's rum-raisin but Emma liked Granny' chocolate and really-"

He gives her a gentle shake, because what man knows what to do in the face of such bald-faced and misplaced enthusiasm. "Snow."

That gets her attention. He uses her given name even less than she uses his. "We both appreciate how...I appreciate how enthusiastic you have been about our upcoming nuptials. Truly. But your daughter spent half the night chasing down giant spiders Gideon conjured up last night and the night before, I found her staring at identical colours of blue and muttering to herself. And the truth is, I don't give a devil if we get wed in the brig as long as she is happy and right now she's not. She's trying to be the Saviour and stop a madwoman and keep up with your demands for her to plan a blasted ceremony neither of us give a whit about and I know you want a royal wedding but Emma does not, and if she wants the bloody buttercups than that is what she should get."

He's nearly breathless by the end of it, and half-afraid that he'll earn an arrow between the legs for his words but Mary Margaret's eyes get wide and wet and bloody damnation-that is worse. Dave will kill him for making his wife cry and he would deserve it. He removes his hand, shifting uncomfortably. "Milady-"

Snow cuts him off, waving her hand and wiping her eyes hastily, bottom lip still trembling even as she smiles at him and _he is a fucking git._

"You know," She says, placing her hand on his shoulder, probably to stop the fidgeting. "I forget it sometimes, but you really love her, don't you?"

Killian swallows hard, nodding silently.

Snow simply smiles back. "Good. I know we don't say it often enough, but I'm glad she's found you. Everyone deserves somebody who loves them enough to fight for them, even if it's with her own mother about her wedding."

His head is fuzzy because he's not quite sure what is going on. It sounds as if he's insulted Snow's attempts to give them a stupendous affair of a wedding and she's...thanking him for it? He hasn't been this lost since he was a boy following after Liam's coattails.

Mary Margaret gives him an affectionate pat on the back, her eyes blessedly dry despite the telltale red lining them. "I'll tell David we're not going venue hunting today and...you're right about the buttercups. As long as Emma's happy, right?"

He nods dumbly. Still unsure if Dave was going to come out of the woodwork to pierce his side because surely there must be some punishment for making his wife cry?

She nods to herself, gesturing to the book with a hand. "Look it over on your own time. We'll make it work. Just, Hook-"

He's still nodding, feeling more foolish by the moment.

"Don't stop fighting for her, no matter what...or who against, okay?"

His throat feels clogged and for an embarrassing minute, he thinks he might tear up himself. "Aye, milady."

She gives him one more reassuring pat on the back before turning her heels and sliding towards the door. Her sharp chin pushes over her shoulder one last time and she calls, "Killian?"

"Aye, milady?"

"You've got to stop calling me that. We'll be family soon enough after all."

And now he's sure he's going to tear up so he swallows hard and nods, ushering her out of the house before he can make a scene of himself and crawling back into bed with Emma, using her warmth to comfort him.

"What-what time is it. Killian?" Her voice is muffled half in the pillow, and he simply folds his legs between hers and kisses the top of her head.

"Hush, love. Go back to sleep. 'Tis still early."

He hums lightly into her scalp until he feels her still again, slumber taking them both into its grasp.

("Jesus Christ, Hook. It's one! We slept until one. What the fuck happened? I bet that stupid bitch has already decimated half the town and dad has written our vows for us. Shit, how did we sleep this late-"

"Emma, love, Swan-shush. It's all alright. I talked to your mother this morning…)"

* * *

Three weeks later, they elope.

"Swan, you know I'd die for you, right?"

"You've demonstrated, Killian. Let's not go there again, cool?"

"Right, it's just...love, I adore the idea of us committing to each other on the sea but I fear if we deprive your father of the wedding he's imagined, he may yet gut me."

"Fuck, Hook. Are you marrying me or my father?"

"...While he certainly is a dashing fellow-"

"-Ew, Killian. Just ew. Forget I asked."

"I'm afraid you stole my heart atop a beanstalk and it will be forever yours."

"You're such a sap."

"You love it."

"Whatever."

"You love me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So can we get married or not?"

He stops her pacing, hook on her waist and hand to her chin. "Swan, I want nothing more than to marry you love but are you sure?"

She sighs, allowing him to pull her into his gravity until she can nuzzle against his collar, inhale the reassuring scent of salt and male. She would make a killing from Yankee if she could figure out what made Killian smell like...yeah. "Look, they can still have their big, over-the-top wedding but I want...is it okay if I just want something between us? I want to give them this milestone but I just...I don't know."

He smiles into her hair, dipping down to nip at her lips lightly. "Of course that's alright, Swan. But might I amend our little party of two?"

"Oh my god. If you suggest that my father is there-"

"Not him, love. But...I quite like the idea of being a part of your family and even though I can marry us, there is the matter of a witness required."

She shuffles impossibly closer, pressing her breasts against his chest until he exhales loudly and has to derail his own thoughts of forgetting elopment and simply taking her back upstairs...or on the table. They haven't broken in the table yet.

Emma snorts against his skin and he can't help the pang of fondness he feels at the gesture. "So you want who? Leroy-the town would know in a fifteen minutes. Red? She can keep a secret but I'm going to be a little jealous when she shows up to our wedding looking hotter than I-"

"First, no. No dwarves. Bloody hell love. Second, you catch my eye far more than the she-wolf does, no matter her choice in apparel...or lack of it. Third, no. I meant…" He shifts his weight bashfully, glancing down to their touching toes to get the word out. "...If it's not overstepping, I think the lad would make a fantastic witness."

She looks up then, blinking against his collarbone. "You want Henry to be at our secret elopement ceremony?"

It's only her hand in his that stops him from scratching behind his ear. "You're right. It's too much to ask of the lad. It was foolish apologies Swan."

Her kiss steals his breath, his soul from his body as she devours him in a wide, hot kiss before breaking it with a grin against his cheek. "I love you and that's a fantastic idea. Thank you."

Killian chases her lips, pressing much gentler in her grasp even as he leans forward. "Whatever for, Swan?"

Her smile is too infectious to contain, spilling onto his lips. "For loving both of us."

("Killian,"

""Hello lad. I apologize for waking you at this hour but-"

"Mom and you decided to elope?"

"Er-what? Henry?"

"On the ship too right?"

"Lad, if you're feeling uneasy about this…"

"Oh save it, Hook. I've been waiting for this call for ages. Between grandpa going on father-of-the-bridezilla and mom looking like she's going to jump off a cliff it took you two long enough."

"...So you're okay with this? You're mother and I getting married."

"Killian, if I wasn't okay with it, I would've put sleeping pills in the hoard of dried fish you keep in the house and told Gold when to strike. It's fine."

"Ah. Then...so you're su-"

"Jesus Christ, Killian. Yes, you're alright. Okay?"

"...So I grew on you then?"

He can literally hear the lad's eye roll through the phone. "Oh, shut up. When do you need me to meet you?"

"In an hour work for you?"

"Sure. Anything else?"

"I'm-I know I'm not Baelfire but you know I'm quite fond of you, Henry, right?"

There's a shuffle and muffled voices that let Kilian know Henry is explaining his late-night activities to the Queen. "Yeah. You're not too bad yourself. Anyways, see you in an hour...and don't tell my moms I swore.")

Henry meets his mother and her pirate in an hour on his ship, lit with candles. He'll eat his hat before he says so, but it's rather perfect. She's in jeans and a knit sweater to ward off the cold, and he's without his jacket. But the vows they speak that night-

("I promise, Emma. You will never be alone again. I am always, always right here."

Sniffle. "I hate you. But really, thank you. Thank you for loving me enough to take the time. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for getting behind my walls. Just...I love you too, you know that?"

"Aye lass. Always and forever, sweetheart.")

Are simple and pure and make some weird impression on his memory so he knows that he'll want his own wedding like this. A shared, quiet thing filled with love and honesty brimming off the boat-ship.

He hands them their rings and when he trudges home later that night, exhausted and happy and smiling, Regina meets him at the door with one eyebrow raised.

"They finally seal the deal?"

"Yup."

"About time," She mutters, ushering him in to bed.

He really does have the best family.

* * *

This is by far the most bullshit thing her parents have ever talked her into. That is including a) Letting Ratched be her GYN. b) Giving Gold a second chance. c) Refusing to let Granny cater her wedding. Her onion rings were soggy for a week.

But this, this takes the fucking cake.

They were already living together, for fuck's sake. And after the 'pancake incident' it's not like they could even pretend they weren't fucking each other's brains out. But somehow in between conceding flowers and shoes so they could marry on the beach, her father had gotten her agree to spend the night apart.

And it sucked.

Insomnia was a lifelong stalker Emma had gotten rid of shortly after sharing her bed with Hook. There was something about watching the man you love die, multiple times, that made it imperative to fall asleep with your cheek pressed against his heart. The constant thud had lulled her to sleep consistently most nights and when that failed, she had a soft lilt humming in her ear until dreams dragged her under. And warm arms. And chest hair.

Gods, the chest hair.

She punches her pillow down again and scowls at it. This? This was her grand substitute for her pirate on the eve of their wedding? Some purple cotton in her parent's loft?

Emma turned, glancing at the clock on the nightstand beside her.

3:07 a.m.

Fuck this, she thought as she placed her feet on the chilled floor. They were hardly tradition anyways.

And that pillow was a shitty fucking substitute.

Did she mention the chest hair?

* * *

It's ironic, he thinks. He's fallen asleep aboard his ship for the past few centuries and yet the one night he needs to sleep, needs to be energized in the morning, the waves do nothing for him.

Sure, the constant rocking of the Jolly soothes him. Makes him less likely to stab Grumpy if he showed up at this moment. But he's far from sleep. His mind is conjuring images of Emma in a resplendent white dress, of the Black Fairy ripping her heart out. They don't sleep well alone, he knows. He knows Emma likes to feel his heartbeat when she falls. Know he needs her flesh-against-flesh to do the same. It's probably something the cricket would find unhealthy, but you can't be ripped away from what you love this many times without needing it to feel safe enough for slumber.

And she's at her parents bloody loft.

He gets the tradition, he does. The idea of a virginal wedding. The white. The symbology. There was a time when he was a lieutenant that it was all he wanted. But his first love was married even as he took her, lovingly and slow against the wood of his ship. His second is a mother, a woman he's sharing a home with. A woman whose mother has nearly walked in on them. It's a charade. A facade. It's a bloody stupid damned thing and when he thinks of Swan turning alone in a bed it makes him want to knock the prince's teeth out, mate or not.

Makes him want to scream that technically, they're already wed. Henry as their witness.

He sighs once more in the lonely cot, sliding his chin against the covers until he can read the clock.

2:47 a.m.

Sod it. He's going to bed with his wife. Tradition be damned.

He's out the ship and down the road, plotting to sneak into her parents loft, the second story window by the sea. Just fifteen minutes. Maybe a touch more.

* * *

She puffs herself to his bed, glad for her magic as she sees the white smoke clear and take in the view of a-of an-

Empty bed.

Her heart thuds against her ribcage. Fuck. He's been taken. The Black Fairy got to him. Gideon has sent him away again. Zelena has him locked in a trunk again. Oh god. Of fuck. Killian. They're getting married tomorrow and he's gone.

She puts a hand to her erratic heart, trying to calm herself. This is ridiculous. He probably had as much trouble sleeping as she had. He's probably just above deck, looking into his stupid water-

She runs, racing up the steps and scouring the ship. He's not above deck. Not in the galley. Not in the best mate's cabin where they've fucked against the railing of the bed, his fingers playing inside her until she came like a bottle rocket as he tongued her clit.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She's gotta call David. Regina. Zelena. Wake the search party and figure out-

She's in his bed, knows it's his from the ridiculous gray sheet and the remnant of warmth in the tiny bunk. The bunk she first took him in her mouth and made him keen until he broke.

Without thought, she grabs his pillow and inhales. Sea. Salt. Killian. He was here. He was sleeping here until-

She's not aware she's perched on his bed frame, clutching his pillow like some teenage kid with a crush, until she feels a warm presence at her back, a stubbed wrist dragging down her back. Isn't aware of the tears that have pooled until a thumb is wiping them off, soft lilt into her hair.

"Swan,"

He's there. He's here. All barely put-on jeans and undone wasitcoat and stupidly perfect hair and-

She turns, burying her face into his stomach as she gulps in air, tangles her trembling fingers under the old, soft cotton shirt until she can detect the heat of his flesh, the beat of his heart, alive and well under her touch. It makes her feel idiotic, her irrational fear as he combs out her hair and murmurs her name above her.

"Emma, Emma, what is it love? What's wrong?"

She hiccups against his ribs, leaning her chin against him so she can give him a watery smile. "Nothing. I-hey. I went looking for you and you weren't…"

She sniffles against a new onslaught of tears, wiping her nose unabashedly on his dark waistcoat as she feels his hand settle against the small of her back.

"Oh Swan," His voice is soft, reverberating in the tiny cabin until it heats her to her toes. "I'm right here love. Right here. Promise, Remember?"

Emma chuckles, her entire body sagging against his until he adjusts, taking on her weight even as he pushes her to lean back in his bed. "Yeah. Yeah…"

He cups her chin, forces her to blink back the moisture and meet those beloved, glowing blue eyes. "Right here, sweetheart."

She nods against his belly, feeling the tension drain as he cups the back of her head, soothing her with long strokes against her hair until sleep begins to drag again. She feels Killian push her back and goes willingly this time, allowing his dexterous hand to dissolve her of clothing and then himself, his weight above her and beside her the best of reassurances as they crawl together into the small bed, legs entwining. Emma lays her head on its place on his chest (that's its place, her heads. It's right there, above his beating heart and nothing has felt so right as that). Her arms encircle his ribs even as he nudges a leg in between hers, still murmuring lightly to her temple.

"Sleep Swan. I've got you. Sleep, my love. Tomorrow we wed."

She swipes her nose indiscreetly against his belly, causing a chuckle to nearly displace her before sinking her nails into the thatch of hair on his chest. But really, has she mentioned that? It's like a fucking bed.

"Where were you?" Her voice sounds small to her ears and she hates it a little, the lost girl appearing while she's sleeping beside her fucking husband.

He doesn't seem to feel the same, hand running up and down her spine, thumb making small circles into her skin. "I fear we had the same idea, love. I broke into your room at the loft, only to discover you gone. I came back to the ship to get the shirt you left earlier in hopes of waking Regina for a tracking spell."

She snorts against his collar, scooting up a bit to meet those endless eyes. "And not one of my shirts in the loft 'cause…"

He shrugs against her, the movement forcing her deeper onto him, a weight he seems glad to carry. "You would be surprised by the remarkable lack of your clothing you've left love. And...that you had, I believe Dave may have commandeered as the little prince's burping rag."

Emma wrinkles her nose, giggling when it causes him to jolt from the tickling sensation on his ribs before they both resettle, her eyelashes far from ticklish spots. "Ew. You don't...Do you-"

"I want to be married to you Emma," Hook cuts her off, making a ridiculously soothing motion across her shoulders with his fingers. 'A second time. Everything else, we'll figure out."

She debates telling him that she's late. Likely due to stress, but the idea of a toddler with his sea-blue eyes makes her smile instead of panic in this moment in the ridiculously late hour, so she simply grins against his collar.

"My husband."

"My wife."

"I love you, you know," The last part comes out as a yawn but Killian seems too enamored to be upset, fingers stroking her scalp lovingly. "Aye, love. But I'm serious, sleep Swan."

"Not a Swan."

"Hmm, love?"

"Jones, now."

"Emma, for the love of Zeus, sweetheart, go to sleep."

"K."

* * *

"Hook, where the hell are you?!"

He sushes David as she climbs down in his cabin, where he still has his very naked daughter pressed against him. Stump to lips, he runs his fingers down her hair to keep Emma asleep. "Dave, not now."

The prince looks like he's about to blow a gasket. The veins in his neck stand out purple. "We've been looking for Emma everywhere. She was supposed to be with Red getting her hair down an hour ago!"

His voice heats at the end and Hook shots him a cold look, soothing Swan back to sleep with his arms around her before shooting her father a look. A familiar look, in fact. A look that implies he's more than unrepentant to be found with his daughter in his bed and is mentally searching the room for projectiles to shut him up if need be.

The pirate keeps Emma pressed to him, his voice stern and slightly mocking. "If this wasn't the first place you looked, that was rather foolish of you. As she remains unharmed, I think we can wait an hour or two to be wed, no?"

Charming blinked twice, trying not to take in his daughter's bare shoulder as she murmured, pressing closer to the pirate in her sleep as she opened her mouth.

"'Tis early. Don' go."

He watched as the stern captain scowl faded from his face as something exponentially softer appeared, his one hand playing with her hair. "Sleep Swan. I'm right beside you."

His daughter seemed to settle at that, all blonde locks and murmured wishes until Hook glared back at him, whispering. "Dave, for gods' sakes, it's her wedding. I think it'll keep for her.

He wants to separate them. He's fairly sure his daughter is naked under the covers and he wants to tuck her into his side and guard her from stupid pirates but well-she's kinda adorable like that. And rather comfortable looking.

"Alright. You've bought yourself an hour."

"Mate-"

"Two. You've bought yourself two hours. Don't fuck it up."

The image of the pirate nodding as he shut the cabin door it sure to stay with him, but so is his daughter's sleepy smile, pressed against her True Love.

* * *

Killian leaned down as her father left, kissing her ear gently.

"Ready to get married love?"

"Again?"

"Aye."

"Yeah, pirate. I really am."


End file.
